


Eight & Sand - A Blaze Black Gijinka Nuzlocke

by Vlden



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vlden/pseuds/Vlden
Summary: A very off-beat adventure set in the wild west, because I can.





	1. Chapter 1

It was the kind of day where the ground simmered like a stew in the cast iron pot. The kind of day that made strong, working men buckle and animals collapse.

The perfect kind of day for going to town.

But while the dawn had been balmy, the rising sun brought with it the slow burn that would scorch the back of her neck had her hair not been down. She was baking alive, even in her light cotton blouse and skirts (she was going to town, after all, she could afford to look a little nicer).

There were only two sources of respite from the blistering heat on her five hour trek into town: the shade of the brim of her pa’s—no, hers, now—hat and the rough canvas grip of her canteen as she put the glass to her lips and tried to soothe the growing dry ache in her throat. It was hardly enough to make the journey bearable, but the fifteen mile trip to Striaton was almost done by the time the early morning was giving way to early afternoon. She’d slept later than normal, having stayed up too late the night before preparing her wagon and goods and taking stock of what she needed to trade for in town. And by Gods, was she paying for it.

By the time Striaton’s wooden vista came up closer and closer over the edge of the horizon, her eyes were stinging from heat and lack of sleep; her neutral mood had decidedly fallen from pleasantly calm at the prospect of going to town and being away from the backbreaking work of her farm for a day into a sour, sweaty frown that she could feel all the way to her toes.

It was easier to deal with the heat on the move and hard at work, not so much sitting pretty in the slow tread of the wagon.

An eternity later, her wagon, dragging hot dust, made it down the central road of Striaton. It wasn’t a big, bustling town; its humble inhabitants were sparse as they went to-and-fro from errands. It was too damn hot to do more than sit inside and pass the time.

She stopped in front of the general store that sat in the center of town with a glass window full of tempting, practical goods that drew her eye and her shoulders relaxed. She’d made it. Relief hardly had time to settle in before the dead quiet of early afternoon exploded into shouts:

“Sadie! Sadie, it’s great to see you!”

A young man—barely qualified to be considered a man—with a scrawny chest and an even scrawnier pair of shoulders bounded out of the store. He wore a white shirt and dark pants and an apron that was tied tight around a slim waist, and he had a face that was better suited to a puppy than a boy; eager, with baby cheeks and big, brown eyes and a mouth so wide-open with a smile that a lolling tongue would complete the canine picture. His hair was dark brown, a little mussed. Surely his mother wasn’t approving of him not combing his hair?

Sadie arched a brow and half smiled, “Good afternoon, Gilbert.” Gripping the reigns, Sadie stepped down off the wagon with a sturdy thud onto the ground and tied the horses to the post in front of the store. Gilbert was all-but bouncing on his heels as he watched her make her way back to the door of the store; whatever was on his mind had set the back of his pants on fire, by how he was moving around.

“So,” He babbled, “What brings you to town? If I’d known you were goin’ to be coming up, I’da had ma make you somethin’ special, or—“

“No need for that.” Sadie motioned to the door and headed inside before she continued, “I’m just out of a few things. Thought I’d come to make a trade. And the Almanac was givin’ some awful hot weather, so I had a feeling any day this week would work.”

Gilbert darted alongside her and then to the counter, puffing his chest up in the perfect imitation of an adult store clerk, “Well, what can I do ya for, Sadie?” His foot tapped from a hybrid of impatience and excitement. What [i]was[/i] on his mind?

She took her hat off and wiped her brow, taking a long pause to catch her breath. It was still warm in the store, but being closed off from the sweltering sun was a pleasant enough respite that she almost forgot she was irritable.

“Well, for starters, we ought to go through what I brought and figure how much it’s worth.”

They braved back into the heat to unload the wagon. Sadie was a strong woman, made of nothing but years of manual labor and sunlight, but Gilbert, for all his slender, childlike frame, was just as easily handling what wheat she’d been able to harvest this year. There were some other vegetable goods—not too many since she needed most of them to feed herself—and a few fur pelts from rabbits she’d trapped in the garden. It wasn’t much. Nothing like what she and her pa and ma had been able to put together, years ago. But it would be just enough, she hoped, to get her what she needed.

While they took everything back over the counter, Sadie finally gave in to Gilbert’s impatient lip chewing and eye-darting and asked, “So what have you been up to, Gilbert?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Gilbert sighed as if he’d just had the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders and darted into the back of the store. He came back with a fat handful of hand-written letters and shoved them at her.

“I’ve almost got it!”

Sadie scrambled to keep the papers from flying out of her hands, and she neatly arranged them before looking down at the page. Gilbert’s handwriting wasn’t the neatest (another thing she was certain his mother scolded him for) and she could barely make out what the letters were forming together to say.

“Got what?”

“My book, Sadie!” He sat on the store counter and kicked his legs with boundless energy, “I’ve just about got it all—it’s perfect!”

She arched a brow at him, “Still on about becoming a novelist?”

“Of course I am! I have a story to tell, Sadie—it’s got it all, a farm boy hero, a rebel princess, an evil Empire, and a Rebel Alliance…”

“Sounds like a war back East,” She laughed and slid the papers back to him. His face fell.

“Aren’t ya gonna read it?”

“Gil, you know I ain’t got the time.” It was an act of pure control that she kept her expression from showing the bubbling annoyance that had settled in a low stew in her stomach. He never learned.

Gilbert put the papers to his chest and looked down, “Right…maybe next time you’re in town for longer?”

Her eyes started to roll. She stopped them, and put her hand on his shoulder, “If I get the time.” After a moment, a faint pang of guilt made her lip curl into a soft smile, “You know, I’m sure it’s good anyway. You’ve always been tellin’ stories.”

The brightened smile that replaced his dejected look made the pang of guilt fade. Just enough that she moved on to listing out what she needed:

“So, Gil, I need a barrel of molasses, two tubs of lard, twenty pounds of flour…”

“Woah, woah,” He started looking through the goods she’d brought to trade, “I don’t think this is worth quite enough for all that, Sadie.”

The stew in her stomach started to boil, low and fearful. Not this. She didn’t need this, not now. “What do ya mean? It was plenty last time.”

“Well…” Gilbert chewed his lip, “It’s just that prices for crops have gone down, what with Plasma starting to move the railroads in. And more folks have been bringing in more crops, so…”

“Damn it,” Sadie said, “Damn it all, Gil.”

“I’m sorry, Sadie.” He winced at her tone and she squeezed her eyes shut. Things were getting to be so damn hard. Deep breath, Sadie, deep breath.

He caught on and put a hand on her arm, reaching across the counter, “We’ll work something out. Let me do some countin’ and I’ll work out what I can give you.”

“How long you need?”

“Come back in a couple of hours and I ought to have you straight.”

Sadie smiled, though she knew it didn’t reach her eyes, “Thanks, Gilbert. You’re an angel.”

“Shucks, just tryin’ to do right by a friend. I know things haven’t been easy since…” He caught himself and then smiled as bright as he could, “Anyway, why don’t you go get you somethin’ to eat? I’m sure you’re hungry from your trip in. I’ll watch your wagon, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”

There was a soft wave of relief that worked its way through her shoulders to her stomach. Despite the heat curbing her appetite, Sadie could certainly eat, and she could [i]definitely[/i] use more to drink.

She bid Gilbert goodbye and headed out the general store and towards the Three Brothers’ Saloon.

It was a large building sitting pretty in the center of town, a massive wooden construct with swinging wooden doors that invited in any weary wanderer making their way through town—or the locals who needed a stiff drink or a hot meal. Or both. Sadie pushed open the doors and felt the room quiet for a moment as the few patrons took stock of her.

She knew she was an odd sight; Sadie was taller than most men, and just as athletic, with strong features and hair that was as red as a morning before a brutal storm. Her stature and the contrast of her attempted feminine dress set her up for odd looks and amused grins. Sadie stilled an embarrassed blush at the eyes on her and headed to the bar.

Cilan, one of the proprietors of the Three Brothers’, smiled at her and said, “Well, good to see you, Sadie. What brings you to town?”

“Had some errands to run,” She replied as she slid onto a barstool.

Before Cilan could continue his line of inquiry, a lovely female voice called out, “Sadie! Sadie Crimgan!”

A slender pair of arms threw themselves around Sadie’s neck and nearly toppled her off the barstool. Sadie pried the woman off her and a genuine smile crept onto her face.

The woman was a beauty; golden blonde waves framed a heart shaped face with large, reddish-brown eyes and dark, arched eyebrows. She was slim, made all the slimmer by her flattering pale gown with black accents. The bustles and frills of dresses back East were lost out in the Territories, and it suited the woman all for the better in the straight skirt of the dress that hinted at long legs.

“Beatrix Spear,” Sadie said, arms on the woman’s delicate shoulders, “What’re you doing out and about today?”

“Getting into trouble,” Cilan laughed, “She’s been helping us serve on busy days.”

Sadie glanced at the near-empty saloon, “Sure is busy today, then.”

Beatrix had a warm laugh, and as she laughed, she said, “Oh, it’ll pick up.” But a glint of something more entered her eyes as she leaned in and whispered, “There are some gentlemen from the Plasma Railroad here; people have been steering clear of ‘em.”

Sadie whispered back, “What’re they doing all the way out here in Striaton?”

“Looking to connect us to Nacrene,” Beatrix said. “But enough about that; what brings you in? It’s so good to see you!”

It wasn’t enough about ‘that’, but Sadie let it drop for Beatrix’s charm and energy. And there was the subtle hint in her expression, her gesture, her quickness to change the conversation that was a warning not to push too far. Too many ears, perhaps?

Beatrix had been Sadie’s friend since she was a small girl making the long trek to holiday religious services with her parents; they were the only girls close in age in the tiny town, and Beatrix had latched herself firmly to Sadie, despite Sadie’s oafish size and bumpkin demeanor. Beatrix was from a right and proper family from back East—her pa had been a decorated cavalry officer in the War between the States—but her charm had never failed to make Sadie feel a little less like a backwoods farm girl when they spent afternoons strolling around town or sitting in Beatrix’s parlor. Made her feel like she belonged, even when she didn’t.

She shrugged, “Just coming in to do a bit of trading. Though things are a little tough right now, what with crop prices going down.”

Beatrix hopped into the barstool beside Sadie and tucked her legs elegantly to the side, “Oh, Sadie, I know you don’t like to hear it, but you really should just sell the farm and come to town. You could stay with my family, and we’d find you something to do!”

Sadie snapped, “I ain’t sellin’, Beatrix.”

“It’s just been so hard on you, the past few times you’ve come into town, and I can see it in your face. One woman running even a small farm just…it just isn’t going to sustain itself in the long run. You’ll kill yourself working at this rate.”

“Just as well, s’what killed pa and ma, I reckon.”

Ah, Gods, that had been bitter.

Eyebrows drawing together with a perfectly prettified frown, Beatrix said, “It’s just not safe, living alone so far out from town. What if something happens to you? What if you get kicked by a horse or cow, or if you take a nasty fall, or if—“

“I’ll be fine, Beatrix,” Sadie said and shook her head, “I don’t need your worryin’.”

Cilan coughed and interrupted the cold staring contest that had replaced the easygoing conversation. “Sadie, what can I get for you? You hungry?”

“Yeah. Whatever you’ve got to eat is fine by me.”

Nodding, Cilan disappeared into the back, where the kitchen snugly sat. Beatrix fell into a still, pouting silence beside Sadie, looking down at clasped fingers. 

“So, you said you’ve got a little farm?” A man’s voice asked, smooth and calm behind Sadie. She stiffened and turned to face him; he was a lean man with red-tinted blond hair, wearing a clean grey suit that was better fit to the East than the Territories. 

“It ain’t any kind of good sense to talk about where you live with strangers,” Sadie warned. 

“Then let’s not be strangers,” He said, “I’m Timothy James. Plasma Railroad. And I heard your name was Sadie Crimgan if I’m not mistaken?” 

“You got some fine ears,” Sadie’s shoulders bristled more at his eerie familiarity and she sunk back into the bar. “What’s it to you what I’ve got?” 

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Timothy James said, “A matter of money.”   
Her voice was guarded when she replied, “What makes you think I need money?” What did he know, anyway? Eavesdropping Yankee bastard.

Timothy smiled, tight and all-too polite. “Well, I know for a fact that crop prices are driving down business right now.”

“They’re just fine.” Sadie snapped. Who did this man think he was? Assuming, falsely engaged, obviously playing her to try to negotiate with him...

He tilted his head to the side, “Hm, I think that’s not quite the truth. But to be more direct: you know that we’re trying to bring the railway to Striaton. I’m here to finish up some of the business behind it. That includes finding the property owners of any land in the nearby vicinity that would be in the way of the new tracks.”

She knew where this was going. Sadie bared her teeth in a warning smile, “I see. And what makes you think my land is in the way?”

“My associates saw you come in from the west. That’s near the direction of Nacrene, and there’s one farm we observed in that direction. Small little thing. Good land, though. It would be worth your while to sell.”

“I don’t think so.” It made her feel like sunstroke, all hot and wrong and confused, to think that someone had been watching her farm. Marking her land for their damn railroad. Plasma was nothing but trouble.

Timothy James hummed again. It was a grating sound, thoughtful in the way that he was only ensuring the conversation he had rehearsed in his head continued to go off without a hitch. Finally, he said, “You really should consider the offer. I couldn’t help but overhear your friend say you run the place on your own? Surely it’s too much work for one pretty woman, no help, and no companions? You would be better off with some money to rebuild your life here in town. The railroad will bring in a lot of business here.”

Sadie bristled and felt her arm raise. Beatrix caught it and whispered, “Sadie, don’t.”

She ignored Beatrix, shook her off her arm, took a firm stride over to Timothy James and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. He was much smaller than she was, and although she could see muscles tensing under his clothes, could feel the coil of decent power, Sadie was a farmer, and had been a farmer all her life. There was nothing to spare on her body. She was made of hard oak and steel, and despite the shred of strength she could feel in the Plasma agent’s body, there was a softness like cotton under him. He wasn’t accustomed to the Territories.

Soft Yankee bastard.

Beatrix said again, firmly, “Sadie. Don’t.”

Sadie curled her lip at Timothy James and said, “You ain’t gettin’ my farm, Mr. James. You’d best leave me to my lunch.”

“What if we made you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

Her temper flared, a hot and angry flash in her stomach all the way to her head. Vision white. Heart pumping. She took her fist back and nailed Timothy James right in his smug mouth, releasing the lapel with the other hand just as she made contact. There was enough force in the blow that sent him toppling over a chair.

“You shouldn’t have done that, miss.” He drew his hand up to his split lip and came away with blood. Then, despite the flinch that said it hurt, he whistled through his teeth, and two of the men who had been nonchalantly nursing drinks stood, swinging off their jackets. They were big men. Bigger than Sadie. “Now, do we need to make a scene?”

Beatrix started to stand in between Sadie and Timothy, but Sadie pushed the slim woman aside with one hand and stepped forward, closer to the men, “You can go ahead and try. I’m done talking to you.” She looked back to see Cilan with a white-knuckled grip on a plate of steaming hot food and a drink. He was staring, imploring her to stop. She inclined her head. “Sorry, Cilan, but I think I’d best be going. I don’t want no trouble.”

Sadie was at the door when one of the men took her by the arm and said, “Miss, I don’t think Mr. James was done with his conversation.”

She didn’t know how to fight, not proper, like a soldier or a scholar from one of those magic schools back East. But Sadie was athletic. Sadie had been wrangling cattle and horses since she was small. Sadie was smaller than these men, but she was by no means helpless to them.

The flash of anger struck her again, whiter and hotter than the sun outside, this time. She twisted out of the man’s grip, slammed her boot down onto his fine shoes, and shoved him hard.

“I told you,” Sadie warned, “I don’t want no trouble.”

The near-empty saloon exploded like a stick of dynamite hitting stone. The first man took a swing at Sadie and she ducked under it, nearly tripping on her skirt before she rotated at the hips and smacked the man right in the bone of his shin with a spinning kick. He howled in pain and started to buckle, but before Sadie could deliver a solid punch to his nose as he lowered down to her level, the second Plasma goon grabbed her under her arms and lifted.

“Sadie!” Beatrix called, “I’m going to get help, just—oh, Lords have mercy—“ There was a flash of golden hair as the slender Beatrix darted out the door and into the heat that simmered just outside.

She didn’t have time for help. She wasn’t going to be manhandled into selling her farm. It was [i]her family’s land[/i]. Her pa had come a long way for it. Had worked his tail off for it.

Sadie brought her elbows down hard into the soft crooks of the second goon’s arm, and he grunted in surprise, grip loosening enough that Sadie dropped back to the floor. She swept her leg out and kicked the man right in his ankle. He staggered into a table, gripping the edge for support.

A shadow loomed over her. Sadie turned just in time to duck out of a punch from the first man she’d kicked. She swung again with her fist and caught him on the chin. The man dropped as abruptly into a heap on the ground.

The second man was back up, a chair held overhead. He tried to bring it down on Sadie, but she threw herself between his legs and he overshot the swing, shattering the chair on his companion. From her vantage point below, Sadie kicked straight into the second man’s crotch. She kicked like a damn mule. She’d probably learned to kick from pa’s damn mule, in the first place.

He dropped as quickly as the first man.

Sadie stood in the dust and splinters and brushed her blouse and skirt off. She turned to apologize to Cilan, who she was sure was probably standing in frozen, horrified shock.

A whip cracked across her face, sharp and painful enough that it sliced her cheek with a thin kiss of a cut. As she caught a better glimpse of the whip as it came back at her—barely giving her enough time to sidestep—she saw that it was green. Green?

Timothy James was magic.

Sadie cursed and put her hand to her cheek as she watched the vine slither back to its master. He was holding a packet of seeds in one hand, and his fist was clenched around a thick strand of vines that writhed in his grip.

“Thought Plasma was against magic these days.” Sadie curled her lip at him. Stretching her cheek like that stung like hell.

He inclined his head, “Miss, I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand the complexity of Plasma’s stance on magic. It’s a little outside of your educational background.”

Uppity bastard! Sadie took a stride forward and the vine whip wrapped around her wrist as she drew her fist back at him. It was constricting, tight to the point where she thought he might pop her wrist right off her arm.

Before he could say another smart thing, Sadie widened her feet and pulled hard on the whip. Her strength surprised Timothy James—she could see it on his face—as he came stumbling forward and right into her fist. The impact of bone on bone rattled her all the way to her teeth, but she followed through with the punch and sent Timothy James staggering, his grip on his vine weapon dropped. The magic had forced the seeds to sprout far too early; they started to wilt and wither as soon as they’d left his power. 

“You’re not right,” He said through his swollen mouth, “No one is that strong—“

She had a chair in hand and had brought it down over his head before he could say a damn word more.

“Sadie.”

It was only when she heard Sheriff Cheren Griffith’s voice that the weight of her actions settled heavy and shameful on her shoulders.

She’d just near destroyed the saloon of three gentlemen she respected. And as she looked to the bar, she saw that all three of them—Cilan, Cress and Chili—were standing in stunned silence.

Sadie dropped her head low and turned to the Striaton’s sheriff. “It ain’t what it looks like, Cheren.”

Beatrix came and put a hand on Sadie’s cheek, “You’re bleeding.” In only a second longer, a handkerchief was shoved onto her skin, silky cool. Sadie clamped it onto her face and felt it grow damp with blood.

“Come on, Sadie.” Cheren was at her side abruptly, arm threaded around hers. “I need to have a word.”

“What about them?” She grumbled, “They started it.”

“My boys will be along shortly.”

They walked in silence in the blistering heat, Beatrix trailing along behind as they came up to the Sherrif’s office. It was close to the store.

“Beatrix,” Cheren stopped at the door, “Thank you, but I need to speak to Miss Crimgan alone.”

She paused, hurt flashing over her lovely features, “But—“

“It’s fine, Beatrix. Could you do me a favor and check on my things at the store? Gilbert was watching everything for me.”

“Alright.” She frowned and turned away from Sadie and Cheren before almost gliding away. No evidence of sulking, although her expression had screamed that she was, indeed, sulking. 

Cheren led her inside and sat her down across from his desk, where he then sat properly across from her, back straight and shoulders squared. He was a handsome man with deep black hair and dark eyes. He had no beard—he was too clean cut for that—and his eyes were intently focused on her with a kind of straightforward law-abidingness that she had no choice but to take seriously. Even if Cheren and his wife were close friends…Sadie couldn’t imagine that he would take it easy on her.

“I’m already having enough trouble with Plasma,” Cheren finally said after they’d sat in a long, uncomfortable silence. “And then you have to go picking a fight as soon as you come into town.”

“I already told you, Cheren,” Sadie replied, “They started it. This time.”

He rubbed his jaw, “You really don’t get it, Sadie. They’ve been in town giving us all grief for a few weeks now. You can get away with being out of the loop, but…they mean business about expanding to Striaton. We’re one of the last stops holding back the Plasma Transcontinental.”

Odd. It would negatively impact Sadie, for sure, with the railroad likely conflicting with her farm, but being connected to the East so wholly like that would mean better things for the town, wouldn’t it? She voiced her concerns, “Why don’t y’all let ‘em start, then?”

“Because trouble follows wherever Plasma goes. I’ve heard some things from folks out towards Nacrene. Strange happenings. People disappearing again. Not to mention the scraps they start with magic folk.” Cheren hooked his thumbs into his jacket and leaned back in the chair, “You know that the Commodore says that magic impedes progress? Well, there’ve been rumors that the Plasma folks tend to take that a little too serious. We’ve got a fair number of folks with magic in town, Sadie. The brothers, for example. Town wouldn’t function without them.”

“So everyone’s terrified,” Sadie said. “Why put up with them at all? Just run ‘em out of town.”

“They’re pretty good at getting what they want, Sadie. When things don’t go their way…”

Sadie tilted her head to the side. There was more going on. “What do you mean, Cheren?”

His jaw tightened, “They’ve got their ways, Sadie. Now, what trouble did you get into with them?”

She explained, briefly, her encounter, and Cheren’s face darkened.

“I see.” Was all he said.

They fell into silence again.

“I ought to let you get back home, Sadie.” Cheren sighed at last, “You need to lay low for a while. Don’t get into any trouble…do you need me to clean that cut up before you go?”

She winced. “Yeah, I reckon I’d appreciate that.”

It didn’t take him long to have her cleaned up and sent on her way. He was letting her off easy—and so that he could bring in the three Plasma gentleman, by the looks of things as she stepped out of the station to find the town deputies helping three cuffed, limping men to the station. She didn’t scurry to the general store, but Sadie walked with a greater sense of purpose the entire way there until she was certain she was out of their sight.

Everything was in order when she arrived. The back of the wagon was loaded down…loaded down far more than what she’d bargained for.

Gilbert came out of the store with a broad smile, “Sadie, ma and I went over the numbers—oh, good Lords, are you alright?”

“Just had a little bit of a time, Gil, but I’ll be just fine.”

Beatrix said from the seat of her wagon, “I tried to tell you not to start trouble, Sadie.”

“I’m alright, Beatrix. I don’t need your fussing right now.” Sadie waved her hand at her, “But Gilbert, what’s all this? Surely that doesn’t total out to what I brought…”

Gilbert had a sheepish grin as he scratched his cheek, “Well…like I said, ma and I looked over some numbers. This ought to take care of you for a good few weeks. At least two months, really.”

She wasn’t one to tear up. She wasn’t going to tear up. But she did clap Gilbert on his back. Almost hugged the boy.

“Gil, thank you.”

Beatrix had hopped down to join them. “Are you going to be alright? Promise you’ll be careful on your way home. Did you refill your canteen? Oh, and I picked up your hat. You dropped it at the saloon.”

Sadie took the hat delicately from Beatrix’s hands and tried to smile. It hurt her cheek. “Thanks, Beatrix. Sorry for all the trouble today.”

She just laughed. “It’s never dull when you’re around. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll be layin’ low for a while. Sheriff’s orders.”

Beatrix looked crestfallen, “Ah. Well, maybe I’ll have to make a visit out to the farm one of these days.”

“As if your daddy’d ever let you leave his sight for that long.”

Gilbert coughed, “Well, it’s getting late, Sadie. You’ve got a long way back.”

“That I do.” She looked at the sky. It would be dark by the time she got in.

So Sadie loaded herself in the wagon and headed home. It wasn’t an eventful journey, but there was an uncomfortable feeling that settled over her the whole way back to the small fields and barn that made up her home.

Felt like someone was following her. But when she turned her head back to look, there wasn’t anyone nearby. Nothing hiding over the horizon. Nothing for miles but Sadie and her trail of dust.

It was dark when she got home, and she had to struggle with the tack and cleaning of her horses by lantern in the barn. She checked the wagon for anything that needed to be moved inside, decided it would all be alright in the barn for the night, and headed in.

Her body ached. Her cheek stung.

She’d made a fool of herself in town. She always made a fool of herself.

Sadie changed into her nightgown and headed to bed, unease still looming over her with a sickening shadow. She turned back her neatly tucked covers and stared into the moonlight pouring from her window.

Always a damn fool, Sadie Crimgan. Always. Can’t go to town without causing some kind of fuss. Or hurtin’ Gilbert’s feelings. Or Beatrix’s.

She closed her eyes at last with a long sigh. Sadie could just force herself to forget about it tomorrow. Work always made it easy to forget how stupid she was. It was a bitter comfort, but a comfort enough that she was able to drift off at last.

Sadie woke to the smell of fire.


	2. Far From Any Road

[center][i]When the last light warms the rocks,  
And the rattlesnakes unfold,  
Mountain cats will come to drag away your bones...  
[/i][/center]

She had only her nightgown and a sense of direction.

That was all she needed. Had to be all she needed. Sadie couldn’t afford to think, for even a moment, that anything else was necessary to her survival. Even if the ground was hot on her feet. Even if the sun baked her body until her lips cracked and her throat screamed. 

It was all she needed. 

If the heat of the day before had been enough to crumple men like a straw house in a cyclone, Sadie lacked words, lacked the experience, to put to description to the heat bearing down on her. 

Sweltering lines roiled up from the baking ground, and her feet burned and stung and bled. She had been running, at first. Now, out of breath, thoroughly exhausted, and most certainly going the wrong direction, Sadie limped her way around the smoke on the horizon.

[i]The door had been secured so she couldn’t get out; if she hadn’t thought quick enough, the windows might’ve been too. They’d planned to suffocate her. [/i]

Her hand was still bleeding, leaking thin rivulets down fine lacerations. Punching through the window had been an act of necessary desperation. It was only a fifteen mile trek to town. Only fifteen miles. At a good pace, that was only a little over a five hour walk. At a run, it was a fair bit shorter, if she could keep pace. 

But she had run off in the wrong damn direction, running from her problems. Because she was an [i]idiot[/i].

Sadie stumbled on a rock and collapsed to her knees. The dust that rose from the fall burned in her cut hand. She deserved the pain. She [i]deserved[/i] this.

She should’ve stayed. Should’ve fought. Even if those bastards had killed her, at least she would’ve died with some dignity. 

Now, it was all gone. A lump formed in her throat, hard and especially unwelcome, given how thirsty she was. She’d even stopped sweating, now, and her breath was coming rapidly, a harsh, ragged, near-sobbing quality that was pathetic, and embarrassing. Sadie’s vision swam in an ocean of sun and fire. Her hands slid out from under her and she fell face first into the dirt. 

[i]Always a damn fool, Sadie. [/i]

And her eyes closed. 

When her awareness returned, Sadie was swaying. Was this what it was like to go to the afterlife? Swaying, still hot, still—

“Steady, now,” He said, his voice gentle, and kind. An angel? 

Sadie gradually gathered awareness for the rest of her body, leaned against a firm chest and enclosed by strong arms. She was on a horse. That would explain the swaying. Did angels have horses? Opening her eyes hurt, but she still started awake as she realized no, that wouldn’t make sense, and her head still ached, her feet still burned, and her hand—

Was wrapped neatly in a handkerchief.

And she was not dead. Who was this?

“Who—“ She gasped. 

“You may call me Nakir. Now, take it easy. You’re sun sick.” 

She turned her head a bit to get a better look at him. 

He had to be a real angel. He had long, fair hair, tied back in a tail. A wide-brimmed hat cast a long shadow across a handsome face, sun-kissed and shapely. His full lips curved into a concerned smile as their eyes met. 

“Don’t move too much, friend,” He said. “Here, let’s get you some water.” Nakir fished into a pouch on his side and pulled out a canteen. He undid the top and held it to Sadie’s lips for her. She reached to hold it herself—she wasn’t a child who needed care—but her hands were shaking too hard to keep steady. 

Nakir laughed, “There’s no shame in needing help, my friend. Drink slowly.” 

He truly was heaven-sent! The water was cool, crystal clear in taste. She could’ve guzzled the whole canteen, but she restrained herself. Nakir was right. Heat sickness wasn’t uncommon around the Territories in the summer. Ma had gotten real sick with it once, and some of Pa’s sense had stuck with Sadie, after all. Drinking too fast would just make her throw the water back up. 

“We’re almost to Striaton.” Nakir’s eyes focused on her intently.

“Thank you…” Sadie croaked and closed her eyes again. She was still dizzy, still boiling, and her head didn’t feel all there. There was a cotton kind of softness making a fuzz around her senses, dulling her reactions, her curiosity. 

But finally, she managed to murmur, “How did you find me?” 

“Hard to miss your hair,” He laughed. “In truth, I am a scholar, looking for knowledge in the wilderness. I was heading to town to resupply when I stumbled upon you.” 

Sadie snorted. “Elegant.” 

“I am that,” He drawled, although the humor was not lost on Sadie, even in her hazy state. “It was good fortune that our paths crossed. What is your name?” 

“Sadie.” 

“And what happened to bring you out so far from town?” 

“They burned my farm…” 

Sadie could practically hear Nakir’s brow furrow as he spoke. “Who is they?” 

“Plasma.” 

[i]The scream of horses and the crackling of licking and leaping flame pierced the night. It was too late for her home, for her everything. Smoke clogged her lungs, even as she smashed through the window, even as she heard men shouting and hooting and hollering and laughing with wild abandon. She grit her teeth, used a shard of glass to clear herself a decent hole in the window, and threw herself from the boiling room into…[/i]

A gasping wakefulness sent her straight from soft covers to a hardwood floor that was unfamiliar, fists raised still in taught terror. 

“Sadie, Sadie!” A woman said, grasping her wrists, “You’re okay, everything’s going to be okay.” 

“B-Bianca?” She blinked. 

Bianca was a soft, lovely woman with fair hair that framed round cheeks and doe eyes. Said eyes were currently staring up at Sadie with tears brimming the lash lines, concern painted across a deep frown and furrowed brows. 

“Why don’t you get back in bed? You don’t need to be exerting yourself.” 

“Where am I?” Where was…that man? Had she just been dreaming? Had she stayed in town with Bianca and Cheren? 

“It’s a miracle you’re not dead, or worse,” Bianca shook her head. “We found you on the edge of town. Cheren took some people to your farm. It’s gone, Sadie. I’m sorry.” 

Smoke constricted her lungs. She choked on the spot, curling in on herself. The smoke gave way to a strangled sob. 

Gone. 

Everything, gone. 

Ma and Pa’s legacy. 

Gone to the flame. 

Bianca’s hand gently touched her back. Her skin felt tight, like it might crack and fire burst out and leap up and burn this place down, too. 

“You said the edge of town? There wasn’t a man with me?”

“Why would there be a man with you?” 

Had she dreamed him? 

“There was a man…his name…it…” What [i]was[/i] his name? “N...Nakir.” 

“No, Sadie, we found you passed out on the road. Half dead from sunstroke.” 

It was all her fault, wasn’t it? If she hadn’t been so stupid, if she hadn’t…

“Did you have the stove on?” Bianca asked, soft, her voice not judgmental. It burned Sadie all the same. 

“No. [i]They[/i] did it.” 

“Who’s they, honey?” 

Sadie closed her eyes and set her jaw. “Cheren didn’t tell you I came to town yesterday, did he?” 

“No, I didn’t.” Cheren’s voice was firm as the door opened. Sadie got a better glimpse of her surroundings, now. This was the guest room at Cheren and Bianca’s home in the city. A small room, done up nice enough, now that she thought about it. She’d slept here plenty of times in the past. Stayed for a week when…

Her jaw set harder. “Why.” 

“Didn’t want to hurt her feelings that she didn’t get to see you make a right ass out of yourself.” 

“Yeah, well, look at what good that’s done me, Cheren. They burned it all.” 

Bianca looked between them, jaw agape. “Cheren, you—watch how you’re talking to her!” 

“Don’t treat me like a doll, Bianca.” Sadie winced as she sat up straight and glared at Cheren.

He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. “Look, Sadie, I’m sorry, but there’s no proof that they did it.” 

“Like hell there ain’t. You couldn’t hold ‘em? Just let ‘em tear loose and raise hell?” 

Cheren folded his arms, “You’re lucky I didn’t arrest you, too, Sadie. There’s [i]no proof[/i].” 

She grit her teeth. Of course. 

“I’ll show you proof--” Sadie shot from the bed, feet stinging, body screaming in exhausted resistance. As she cleared the distance between her and Cheren, she raised her fist and swung. He sidestepped neatly and let her tumble into the hallway, slamming into the wall and knocking a couple of Bianca’s hung-up needlework canvases crooked. 

“Sadie!” Shrill. Everything was so shrill sounding, shriller than birds at dawn. Bianca’s voice, the way the floor creaked, the sound of town outside, all of it compounded in Sadie’s ears and drove her frenzy hotter. Sadie kicked at Cheren’s legs in a fury, but he calmly walked away. Driving herself forward on her hands and knees, she leapt for Cheren’s waist to tackle him to the ground, to take something out on him--because [i]he[/i] could’ve stopped this, it was [i]his fault[/i]--but he sidestepped again, all the grace of a trained fighter and none of the clumsiness of exhaustion and sunstroke holding him back.

“I didn’t know they would do this to you,” He finally said. 

Her cheeks were wet as she flopped in defeat on the cool hardwood floor. 

Sadie’s shoulder shook, and she pushed Bianca away as the smaller woman knelt down to comfort her. 

“Don’t touch me,” Sadie sobbed. Bianca pulled her arms back as Sadie curled in on herself, closed her eyes, and let the tears flow. 

She didn’t remember falling back into unconsciousness, or someone--probably both Cheren and Bianca, given her size--putting her back into the bed with a cool rag on her forehead. She came to when the sizzling heat of day had given way to some subtle breeze from the evening, still warm, but softer, enough to brush against her cheeks with the same gentle kindness of that stranger in the wildlands. Sadie blinked, took the now dry rag from her forehead and clutched it to her chest like some comfort toy as sunset cast orange and gold across the off-white room. It looked like how she’d always imagined the mesas Pa had described in his stories. 

Her throat caught again, dry as daylight. There was water left out for her on the bedside table. She half sat up and slowly downed the entire tin cup before shakily setting it down and settling back to listen to Striaton. The shrillness of midday had faded now to a lull, not quite a commotion or din, but enough noise that Sadie couldn’t quite get used to it. Other than the animals, the farm had been quiet. 

She’d have to get used to it, wouldn’t she?

What [i]was[/i] she going to do? Sit around and fume and spit and attack her friends? 

Getting angry at Cheren wasn’t the solution. It was an easy out, a clumsy, paper-thin dressing over a gods-damned amputation wound. 

Sadie needed a plan. She needed to think. 

But her head was still heavy and cotton-soft, swimming with sleep now that her aching throat had been tended. She closed her eyes again. What to do...what to do…

[i]Fire licked her limbs and scorched her throat, fire burned her hair and skin and charred her lungs, and as she opened her mouth to scream only smoke poured out. [/i]

She started awake and threw herself out of bed and almost straight into Bianca, who was carrying a tray of breakfast foods into the room. 

“Ah, hell, sorry--” Sadie winced and caught the tray--a moment of rare grace--and sat it down on the bed. Bianca steadied herself and looked up at Sadie with that same dewy-eyed concern. 

“Did I startle you?” 

“No,” Sadie said, “Bad dream, is all.” She looked down at herself, in a tattered nightgown with cracked and rough-looking feet and skin, and then back up to Bianca. “You got any clothes I can borrow?” 

Bianca pointed to the breakfast, “You’re not going anywhere without food. Then Cheren said he wanted to see you, when you were feeling up to it. The best I can do for clothes is hem some of Cheren’s and hope it works. What’s gotten into you?” 

Sadie exhaled, this time free of smoke and nightmares, and whispered, “I don’t know, Bianca. Got a fire in me from that dream. I’ll settle down with some breakfast.” That satisfied Bianca; the woman nodded shortly and left the room, saying something about getting some clothes to hem up for Sadie. She sat obediently with the food and did her best to pick at it, bringing small bite after small bite to her mouth. Her stomach still felt twisted, sour, wrong. What did she do? 

Well, her first train of thought...train...Plasma…

How did one girl get back at a whole damn railroad empire? 

Bianca returned as Sadie finished eating. Her arms were laden with a couple of white shirts and some dark brown slacks. 

“We’ll have to go to the store and get you some new boots,” Bianca said, “But this all should amount to some kind of outfit for you until we can start building you some clothes back up.” 

Sadie gave her a small smile--the most movement of her expression that she could manage with how her sunburned skin ached--and stood. 

It didn’t take overlong for Bianca to have her fitted and dressed like some bounty hunter from the deeper parts of the Territories. In the mirror, she arranged her hair back in a low tail and put the wide-brimmed hat Bianca had pulled from Cheren’s belongings (“To cover your face and protect you from getting more burned,” Bianca said) and saw hollow eyes with dull-burning, hateful embers keeping them barely ablaze. She looked like hell. Felt like hell. But the cut of her clothes, the way the vest framed her waist and how the pants streamlined her hips and legs, gave her a bit more of an imposing stance. 

This was the look of someone who ought to be dead. She squared her jaw and gave Bianca a nod as laden with thanks as she could manage. 

“I’ll pay you back for the boots,” Sadie said. 

Bianca shook her head. “It’s no trouble, Sadie. You’ve...been through a lot. It’ll be a miracle if Gilbert lets me pay for them, anyway. You know that boy thinks you hung the moon.” 

Sadie looked down at her bare feet and sighed. “Don’t know what I did to make him think that. Boy’s too good-hearted.” 

“He and Beatrix have been beatin’ down the doors trying to get to you since Cheren dragged you back here. I imagine they’ve got plenty of questions for you, but we managed to fend them off so you could rest.” 

“I’ll speak to ‘em shortly.” Sadie said. 

They made their way from the house to the town square. It was a short walk, all things considered, but the late morning sun was hot and the ground stung her feet. She fidgeted with her hand--which had healed far too well for something she could’ve sworn she’d cut open on glass. Only fine lined white marks along her skin hinted that anything had been amiss with her hand at all. Hadn’t she had a handkerchief on it from that man? 

Thinking about it too hard brought back that cotton-soft dizziness. She shook her head out and padded her way alongside Bianca, ignoring the eyes of Striaton’s citizens, willing all her senses to dullness and quiet. No murmurs, no heat, just her own breathing, her own thoughts. 

Get boots. Thank Bianca. Talk to Cheren. Three easy steps forward. 

Gilbert opened the door to the store and shouted her out of her focused state. “Sadie! Sadie, oh, thank goodness!” He didn’t throw himself at her, but he got too close for comfort. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. That would be enough. She hoped. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I thought--I--” 

“Got yourself worked up in all those maybes?” She smiled down at him and his cheeks colored. 

“Maybe a bit. You know how I am. Tellin’ my stories.” He put his hand over hers and put pressure against it. His hands were strong for such a scrawny kid. A shadow of facial hair dusted his cheeks--surely he hadn’t neglected himself like that out of worry for her? “Anyway, I reckon...you need some new boots, huh? We got some of those machinemade boots from the East in a shipment. I heard they’re hell to break in, but, well, might be all we got that can fit.” 

“We’ll have to make a trip to Castelia or Nacrene to get you some proper shoes.” Bianca nodded solemnly. 

Sure they would. Sadie nodded along and let them take her inside to the cooler interior of the general store. There was fussing and fighting over payment that she let float underneath her as she stared into the opening of the boot where her foot was supposed to fit. They weren’t the most comfortable shoes, but the shoes were...shoes. 

That was a step down.

“Come see me and Bea for supper tonight at the Three Brothers’, huh?” Gilbert whispered as she walked out of the store in her uncomfortable new boots, square toes and heels clunking hard on the wooden floors. She again nodded her head in a pantomime of understanding. Of course. Dinner. What normal folks did, supper.

Bianca took her to Cheren, next. Dressed in his full sheriff’s regalia, he was reading something at his desk when they came inside. He embraced Bianca quickly, gave her a quick peck on the forehead, and murmured something Sadie couldn’t make out. Bianca then put an arm around Sadie and headed out. 

Silence simmered in the room, summery and stifling. Cheren sat back at his desk and folded his fingers together, leaning forward with an expression somber enough to respect the dead before he spoke:

“They’re going to bring the railroad in, Sadie.” 

“Hell, you sure know how to handle delicate conversations with me. It’s a real talent of yours.”

“I don’t know if we can prove Plasma did burn your farm, but there’s no denying that they’re going to be here. I ain’t trying to run you out of town, Sadie, but…” 

“Where’m I even supposed to go, Cheren?” She put her hands on the desk and leaned over him, brows furrowing. “Ain’t nowhere for me here, or anywhere, is there?” 

“There’s a man here in town,” He said softly, “He’s from Aurea Juniper’s University back East. One of those scholarly types. He’s going to be traveling some of the wildlands, doing some learnin’. Might need a local guide.” 

“Shovin’ me off on some Yank stranger?” Sadie spat, heat rising from her stomach in a viper’s coil to pump venom into her words. “Some friend you are to me.” 

His dark eyes flashed. “It’s because I’m your friend that I’m trying to keep you alive, Sadie Crimgan. They could’ve damn well killed you. I don’t know how the hell you made it to town, but you’re lucky to be alive, and if I can help it, I’m gonna keep it that way, but I can’t put Bianca or the b--” He clamped his jaw shut. 

“The what?” He was keeping secrets, the bastard! 

“Nothing you need to worry about with your life hanging the way it is.” He waved his hand to dismiss the trail of thought like some too-long lingering cigar smoke. She bared her teeth and held his gaze for a long while. What to do...her anger, still a nasty thing crawling behind her eyes and mind, gave her an image of punching Cheren’s lights out, just a good, satisfying smack with all her gathered strength. 

But Cheren didn’t deserve that. He didn’t know what to do, either. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Willed her anger down. It boiled and purred and finally crawled away, hiding somewhere too close to the surface for her own good. Sadie could do this. She’d lost everything. What was losing a town that didn’t want her around, anyway?

“So who’s this man, then?” 

Cheren’s relief was almost palpable. “He’s probably at the Three Brothers’ still. You’ll know him when you see him.” 

Sadie pushed herself up straight and gave Cheren a nod. “I know...I ain’t been the most grateful. I’m sorry for tryna’ kill ya back in your place. Bein’ angry with you, it ain’t the right thing to do. You been nothing but kind to me, in your own way. So thank you, Cheren.”

He caught her arm at the door and slipped a fat wad of cash into her fingers. “For the road.” He squeezed her arm and let her go. 

It wasn’t until she was almost to the saloon that the description dawned on her. The man. [i]Nakir[/i]. He was a scholar, too, wasn’t he? What if--what if this was--her pace quickened and she strode forward with purpose, perhaps a little too much excitement at the prospect of that too-beautiful face being reality, not being some sun-stricken dream made up by a boiled brain…

She slammed the door to the saloon open and was smacked in the head with the din of laughter--Beatrix’s musical laughter. She was at a private table, facing Sadie. They made eye contact and Beatrix waved enthusiastically and leaped from her seat, bounding across the floor in seconds to slam herself into Sadie with no regard for propriety. Sadie patted her back and let Beatrix babble about how worried she had been, and how sorry, and oh, Sadie, what was she going to [i]do[/i]?! Sadie’s eyes trailed back to the table Beatrix had run from, where strong shoulders cut a striking figure from the back.

But his hair was short. Her scholar’s had been long. She set her jaw and pried Beatrix off her. 

“Who’s your friend, Bea?” 

Beatrix blinked with tearful eyes and then glanced back. “Oh! Oh, how rude of me, Sadie, you’ve got to meet him--Sadie, this is Samuel Admurai.” She pulled Sadie along to the table as she made the sweeping introduction, and the man--Samuel--turned his head to meet them. 

Something about having magic did things to people, or so folks said. Odd hair colors, or eyes, or looking just too damn pretty to be natural. Samuel Admurai had one of those too-pretty faces. Ma had described statues carved from stone of beautiful men and women--Samuel’s face and figure belonged on them. He had eyes that belonged to the water and hair that was dark and wavy, well-kempt. He smiled and revealed dimples that would put Beatrix’s to shame. 

And he was eye-level with Sadie. For some scholar Yankee, he wasn’t a small man. And as he took her hand--to shake, she thought, until he pressed his lips to her knuckles--his grip was firm and strong and calloused. He was not soft, no matter what that fine outfit of his said. 

But she still gave him a good thump on the chin with her hand as she jerked it back. 

“Sadie’s not--I should’ve warned you not to do that, she’s been through a lot,” Beatrix said quickly as Samuel rubbed his chin. 

“You’re strong,” Samuel said. His voice was that too-pretty kind, too. Trained. The kind of person who read thick books for pleasure and knew all the words, too. 

Sadie tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. Simpering flirt. “So I been told.” 

“You must be the young woman whose farm burned. My condolences for your loss.” 

“Word spreads fast as the fire, I reckon.” 

Beatrix’s blush revealed the gossiper’s identity. For all her wit and grace, Beatrix could be such a silly girl. Sadie didn’t roll her eyes this time or make eye contact. It hurt just a bit too much to dwell on it. 

Samuel sat back down with liquid grace and motioned to the seats across from him.

“So you ladies know each other?” 

“She’s my friend.” Beatrix smiled and put an arm around Sadie’s waist, drawing her into chair, all her grace apparently recovered from her temporary breach of proper behavior. “Samuel was just telling me about why he was here, you know.” 

Samuel nodded and grinned, “I’m from the Juniper University. Aurea’s gone missing. The University sent me as an agent to find her.” 

“Awful quick to share that bit with strangers, ain’t ya, Samuel.” Sadie raised her eyebrows. The name Aurea Juniper wasn’t exactly uncommon--she was right and well famous everywhere for her work, but Sadie’d never cared much for it. It didn’t have much to do with farming. But it meant something to Samuel, and possibly to Beatrix, who shook her head in understanding of the severity of the implications that Sadie lacked. 

“My understanding is that you and I have mutual interest in leaving Striaton.” Samuel smiled, perfect and dimpled and punchable. Sadie’s anger poked its head from its nest in her stomach, tensing her muscles, clenching her hands. Cheren had already talked to him, hadn’t he? 

Sadie sighed hard and leaned forward, “So we do. You lookin’ fer your professor, and me, well…” 

Beatrix arched a brow at her. [i]What?[/i] She asked with eyes and a little frown.

“Plasma and I have some things to settle.” 

Samuel raised a hand. “I’m not going to help you enact vigilante justice.” 

“Then maybe you should get a ticket back East.” 

His smile was still too pretty, too perfect. “Do you really think this is the kind of place to be talking about such things, Miss…?” 

“Sadie.” 

“Sadie,” Samuel said, “At the end of the day, I need someone who knows the land. I’ve heard you’re a solid woman from the sheriff here. I will provide all the supplies and horses for this expedition in exchange for your cooperation in ensuring I don’t die from exposure. We can discuss any other complications when there aren’t as many ears.” He leaned forward and whispered the last bit, his voice cool with warning. 

Oh. 

Sadie set her jaw and nodded. “Alright. You got a deal.” 

“Sadie, are you--really going to do this?” Beatrix’s voice caught midway in surprise. 

“Cheren’s orders. For the best that I don’t keep makin’ trouble.” 

Samuel stood up from the table. “I’ve got a few more arrangements to finish up and some supplies to gather from the general store. We’ll head out at sun-up tomorrow.” 

“Alright.” Sadie shrugged and forced down the ugly anger that spiked again. How was this fair? Forced off on the road because of what [i]they[/i] did to her? Because they had the money, the power...because they owned these Territories…

She ate a meal--Beatrix’s treat--in general silence, offering only little grunts of acknowledgment as Beatrix asked small, gentle questions. Sadie let the anger boil all the while, let it move her hands in steady motion. It knew she needed to get her strength back. It knew she needed a plan.

She would go along with Samuel, sure. She would even be amenable and helpful.

The first thing they would do is go to Nacrene. Plasma had a railroad operation there last gossip she’d heard. Railroads took plenty of time to build, so they were likely still there. She downed the drink Beatrix brought her, slammed the cup down, and stood up.

“Stay safe, Bea.” 

“I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Beatrix said.

Sadie smiled down at her and replied, “I ain’t got no kinda look. I just think our scholar friend could find some good clues in that library in Nacrene, don’t you?” 

[i]Two could play with fire, Plasma.[/i]


End file.
